


Exactly Like His Father

by EmerySaks7



Category: The Music Man
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 11:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmerySaks7/pseuds/EmerySaks7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three months after the birth of her son, Marian Paroo Hill reflects on how much her life has changed and the man responsible for those changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exactly Like His Father

As Marian Paroo Hill cradled her three-month-old son in her arms, she reflected he was going to grow up to be the spitting image of his father. Chestnut hair, tanned complexion and Harold's nose – they were already evident in the little baby's features. The only thing he hadn't inherited from his father was his eyes. In that respect, he favored his mother. Wide and curious, they had followed Marian's every move almost from the moment he was born.

But for now, Eli Hill lay sleeping, content in his mother's safe embrace in the upper room that served as a nursery. The librarian, still adjusting to the lack of a regular sleeping schedule, had taken refuge earlier that morning in the large rocking chair that sat near the large window that overlooked West Oak Street where they lived, and spent the last hour in pleasant conversation with her husband while their son fed and then promptly fell asleep. Harold had reluctantly left for the Music Emporium, but only after assuring Marian that he'd back as soon as he could.

"I need to check on Tommy and see if the latest shipment of sheet music has arrived," he explained apologetically.

Marian fought the urge to laugh at the forlorn look of worry that settled across his features. "Darling, you have nothing to apologize for. You have a business to run. Having a son doesn't change that." When he didn't seem convinced, she smiled. "Harold. People have been having children long before us. Ours won't make the world stop spinning."

Harold glared at her in mock horror and then knelt before his son, extending his hand to cradle the sleeping child's head in a tender palm.

"Don't mind your mother, son," he murmured softly. "She's still weak and addled from your birth." This last statement was directed at the "addled" Marian with a cheeky grin, and it quickly earned him a prompt scolding.

"Harold Hill! If you persist on imparting such words of wisdom to our son, you can plan on staying at the Emporium!"

Harold chuckled, noting the mirth that danced in her eyes as she said this. She really was too lovely, and the birth of their child had only added a glow to her beauty. He was suddenly overwhelmed with a powerful urge to kiss his wife. Leaning forward, he captured her lips with his. When he finally pulled away, he was delighted to note that Marian's eyes remained closed even as a wistful smile played about the corners of her mouth. When her gaze once again met his, she smiled and shook her head in defeat.

"You don't play fair, Professor Hill," she sighed. "A woman can't keep her wits about her when you do that."

"That's the point, my dear," he grinned. Raising his hand, he cupped her cheek, tenderness creeping into his expression once more. "I love you, Marian." His eyes fell upon the tiny bundle ensconced in her arms. "You've given me a happiness I never knew existed." Feeling a lump form in his throat, he swallowed and desperately tried to blink away the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes. As his wife gazed at him, Harold slowly collected himself before giving her a shaky smile.

"One hour," he promised, pointing a finger at the clock.

Marian nodded. "We'll be here waiting," she promised.

Satisfied at this, Harold leaned down for one last kiss before turning and exiting the nursery, leaving his wife and son to their time together.

Marian watched as Harold silently left, still reeling from the emotions she had seen reflected in her husband's gaze. Feeling her own eyes glisten, she experienced an almost-painful tightening of her heart as she realized the overwhelming love she felt for the man retreating from the nursery. Glancing down at her son, she couldn't help but laugh at the thought.

"Oh Eli, how things have changed," she murmured. "It doesn't seem as if two years have passed." Gazing thoughtfully at Eli, she cast her mind back to the fateful evening of July 3, 1912. "If someone had told me the silver-tongued masher who followed me home that night would eventually become my greatest source of joy, I wouldn't have believed it." She laughed softly. "I still have trouble believing it!"

XXX

Marian Paroo was not having the best of days. To begin with, she had misplaced her eyeglasses soon after opening the library and had only found them a short while ago. That meant for the majority of the afternoon, she'd been forced to bury her nose in the ledger every time she had to make an entry, resulting in a headache that had finally settled to a dull throb, and which persisted the entire afternoon and well into the evening.

Her irritation was compounded even more when Mrs. Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn stormed through the double doors only moments later waving _The Rubayiat of Omar Khayyam_ as she demanded an explanation for the "smutty" book Marian had recommended to her daughter.

Marian's argument that it was beautiful Persian poetry fell on deaf ears – as she knew it would. She had been having this same argument with Mrs. Shinn, and just about every other concerned mother in town, for the past five years whenever she dared to suggest any title outside their limited scope.

Lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, she attempted one last effort to persuade the stony woman that her reading selection for Zaneeta Shinn was far better than many of the new literary titles.

"Honestly, Mrs. Shinn, wouldn't you rather your daughter read a classic than Elinor Glyn?"

The scathing look Mrs. Shinn directed at the librarian wasn't lost on Marian. "What Elinor Glyn reads is her mother's problem. Just keep your dirty books away from my daughter!" And with that, she stormed away from the counter.

Marian was helpless to do anything other than watch the blazing fury whirl past and exit in a manner almost as dramatic as her entrance. Glancing at the clock, she felt a welcome rush of relief wash over her as she realized only fifteen minutes remained before she could shoo the last patron away and immerse herself in her nightly routine, which by now, had become rote: give the library a final glance, shut the doors and lock them behind her. After tugging on them once more, she would set out for her usual route through the center of town, past Madison Park and then to Pine Street where she would eventually come to West Elm.

She found herself looking forward to her evening walk home. At times, she was struck with a sense of loneliness as she made her way down the familiar path to her home on West Elm. But tonight, she would relish the peace and tranquility and be grateful that her status as a purveyor of "smutty books" would afford her little opportunity to be bothered.

A wry smile escaped, unbidden, as she contemplated her new sobriquet. _Smutty book purveyor_. Laughing, she gathered a stack of books and moved to the cart. There was still shelving to be done before she could go home with a clear conscience. Besides, she knew her selections weren't as licentious as the ladies of River City believed they were. Although, she reflected, she had resorted to scolding the group of giggling girls, led, as usual, by Lucy Gordon amidst the classics housed upstairs. She had a sneaking suspicion that the young women weren't so much as enamored of the classic literature as they were of the illicit trysts that were oft alluded to in her treasured novels.

Marian allowed a smile to tug at the corners of her mouth as she pondered this. She remembered what it had been like when emotions and thoughts of love and beaus had first captured her imagination, too. And honestly, the literature housed in the Madison Public Library was quite tame compared to titles she'd heard other libraries kept. Contrary to what Mrs. Shinn might think, Marian Paroo took great pride in maintaining a high standard for her library's catalog. Her spirits restored, she deposited the stack of books on the cart near the dumbwaiter and watched as darkness filtered through the glass windows and the last of her patrons straggled through the double doors near her desk. Gathering her belongings, she found herself once again ruminating on the walk back home and was surprised to experience a sense of melancholy.

 _The same journey every evening_ , she reflected moodily. Usually, the routine didn't bother her. Marian liked the security that order and well-planned scheduled brought, but occasionally, such as tonight, she found herself wishing for change. A spark of excitement.

 _Excitement_? She couldn't help laughing a little at the thought. Asking for excitement in River City was akin to wishing for snow in July.

The chance of an excited fervor gripping the townspeople was just as likely as a handsome stranger swooping into town and sweeping Marian off her feet. Things like that simply didn't happen in River City.

XXX

The evening air was buzzing. Marian could sense it as she as stepped outside the library. Looking around, she spied some sort of commotion near Madison Park, but dismissed it from her thoughts. With the 4th tomorrow, the townspeople were no doubt in a festive mood. She sighed, the melancholy sound echoing around her as she gave the doors one final tug to ensure they were secured.

Once again, she was heading home, _alone_ , to a house that, although filled with love and affection, was still her mother's and not her own. She shook her head and tried to dismiss the wistful thought. It wouldn't do to dream away her evening. There were piano lessons to give; no doubt, Amaryllis would be there already practicing her scales and exercises. Marian smiled. And, she would probably be flat each time she ended. It was nice to know there were certain constants that would always remain.

As she passed by the large crowd assembled near the statue of Uncle Maddy, Marian overheard snatches of conversation drifting across the evening air.

"Pool table! We'll see about that!"

"Lyle, we need to get home immediately and check Herbert's fingers for stains!"

"No daughter of mine will be at the armory with some malcontent!"

Marian furrowed her brows in confusion. She wasn't quite certain what was going on, but it was evident that something had stirred up the townspeople. The last time she recalled them being this riled over something was when Uncle Maddy's Will and Testament had been read. There had been quite the heated commotion once they realized that, although the library building would remain in the town's possession, all of the books inside had been bequeathed to her.

Feeling the sharp sting of a wound that had never fully healed, she lifted her head and, training her gaze forward, disregarded the heated chatter and continued resolutely down the road toward home. She could hear the soft patter of footsteps behind her, but she paid it no mind. This particular route was well traveled, and it wasn't uncommon for there to be heavy traffic, even on a Wednesday evening. But when the footsteps continued behind her once she had turned onto West Elm, she became mildly concerned. There were far fewer reasons for anyone to be on her street this late in the evening, and she knew her neighbor's routines just as they knew hers. Her immediate neighbors were older and would have no doubt retired for the evening. Mr. Harringer was attending his monthly Mason meeting, and Mrs. Thompson was still in Des Moines visiting her daughter. That left very few options for who might be traveling the same route as she.

Just as Marian was about to turn, her curiosity having finally gotten the better of her, she heard the footsteps approach closer and was suddenly startled to see a gentleman appear before her and doff his boater. She masked her amazement behind a veneer of coolness, refusing to even acknowledge the dapper stranger's presence, as she promptly adjusted her gait and sidestepped his brazen overture leaving him to trail behind her.

She watched as, undeterred, he appeared yet again, this time proffering a dainty pink handkerchief and a sincere smile.

"Did you drop your-" he began in what she found to be annoyingly-honeyed tone.

"No!" she quickly retorted and backpedaled as he moved closer, never once breaking her stride. Marian could see the white picket fence of home beckoning to her. The gate was mere steps away. It would be too much to hope that the stranger would cry off his pursuit now, but safety was finally in sight. And, wherever had he found something as ostentatious as that linen? No self-respecting woman would ever be seen in public with a monstrosity such as that. To infer that it could possibly belong to her – well, the unmitigated gall!

Casting a glance downward as he disappeared behind her yet again, Marian was able to read the stenciling on his brown suitcase. _Professor Harold Hill_. She scoffed, immediately suspicious of his so-called title and quite unimpressed with his ingratiating manner. A moment later he was back at her side, hand on her elbow, innocently inquiring if he had met her before. This stranger apparently didn't know when to give up, and Marian was quickly becoming irritated at his persistence and more than a little appalled at the way he casually pointed a finger at her as he framed his question.

"No," she firmly replied, still maintaining the polite manner that society required but letting a hint of ice trickle into her tone. She felt a small measure of satisfaction course through her as the salesman's brow furrow in perplexed confusion at her obvious dismissal of his ploy.

"I'll only be in town a short while," Harold Hill finally offered, his tone suggesting that any further refusal on her part would be ludicrous. His arrogant appraisal of her inability to resist what he obviously perceived to be his irresistible charm nettled her. That was the last straw. Throwing propriety to the wind, Marian whirled on her heel and leveled her incensed gaze upon him as her hand turned the doorknob.

"Good!" she heatedly replied and stepped inside her home. She was gratified to see a disbelieving expression dance across Harold's Hill face before the door slammed solidly shut behind her. Once inside, she was reflected upon the irritating salesman's brazen behavior. _What impudence!_ Where did he get off thinking he could waltz into town and try to pick her up as if she were nothing more than a common floozy?

Marian comforted herself with the knowledge that after such a cool dismissal, the salesman was most likely to seek company elsewhere. But, she reasoned, if he didn't, he had told her he'd only be in town a short while. Surely, she could find ways to avoid the tenacious peddler until he caught the last train out of town.

Instructing Amaryllis to continue with her exercises, Marian retreated to her bedroom and put the stranger out of her mind. There was no reason to believe that the flim-flam artist would present any challenges to her, and she had more important things to do than concentrate any more of her thoughts on him.

XXX

Marian smiled as she recalled her tumultuous meeting with the man who would become her husband and laughed as she remembered the irritation and anger she had felt that warm July evening. If she had only known just how many wonderful challenges Harold would indeed present to her … she might not have waited so long to succumb to his charms. Looking back now, she could easily admit that even then, the irritating-yet-dapper salesman had sported a beguiling charm that she had grudgingly found intriguing.

"Your father is a good man, Eli," Marian whispered softly as she gazed into eyes that were a mirror image of her own. "Someday, you'll grow up big and strong and be just like him."

She stopped and contemplated the words she'd just spoken. For all her husband's winning ways and charming personality, there were one or two aspects that gave her pause. She frowned before succumbing to a soft giggle and glanced down at her son.

"Well, perhaps not _exactly_ like your father," she amended.

Eli's eyes widened, and he stared somberly at his mother. As he watched her, Marian gazed back, patiently submitting to his scrutiny. When he broke out into a broad smile and reached a tiny hand toward her, she couldn't but laugh.

"You, my little darling, instantly captured my heart," she confessed and then smiled in tender recollection. "It took your father a little while longer, but capture it he did!"

A movement through the window caught her attention. Peering out, she caught sight of Harold ambling along the sidewalk, his scarf waving behind him in the cool breeze. When he came to their gate, he glanced up, and seeing Marian through the window, flashed her his trademark grin before waving to her.

Marian returned his greeting and looked at the clock. One hour to the minute. Laughing to herself, she gathered her son closer and made her way downstairs to greet her husband. The thought that her life had taken many unexpected turns was a pleasant one, and she found herself looking forward to what lay in store for Harold, Marian and Eli Hill.


End file.
